


Nothing Promised, No Regrets

by Celandine



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Dirty Talk, Drama, Infidelity, M/M, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-17
Updated: 2007-04-17
Packaged: 2017-10-12 12:16:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/124734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celandine/pseuds/Celandine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco doesn't do relationships, but curiosity makes him accept an invitation from Harry nonetheless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Promised, No Regrets

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Teeth of the Hydra](https://archiveofourown.org/works/124731) by [Celandine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celandine/pseuds/Celandine). 



Draco woke with a splitting headache and a mouth that tasted like the bottom of an owl cage. Not that he had ever tasted the bottom of an owl cage to find out, but he imagined it would be about this revolting. He stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom, where he brushed his teeth. The mirror told him that he was in parlous shape indeed, and he splashed cold water on his face, trying to remember just why he had decided to let himself become so very drunk last night. He knew his own limits and generally stuck to them.

Oh. Potter. He had brought Potter home and fucked him, and then stayed up drinking brandy afterward. No wonder he felt like shit. Thank goodness it was Saturday.

In the kitchen, he rummaged on the shelves to find a bottle of hangover potion, and drank it off quickly, grimacing at the taste. It worked quickly, at any rate. Within moments he felt almost human again and put on the kettle to make tea. A glance at the clock told him that it was nearly one o'clock in the afternoon, and Draco thought about what he would do for the rest of the day. Very little, he decided. He was dozing under the crumpled pages of the _Daily Prophet_ , a half-drunk cup of cold tea sitting beside him, when a tap on the window disturbed his rest.

A barn owl gazed at him unblinkingly and raised its leg for Draco to remove the message tied around it.

"Just a moment," Draco told it, and went to fetch an Owl Treat from the kitchen. The owl hooted, clearly waiting for Draco to read the note.

 _Draco_ , it said. _Want to meet up at the Blue Rose tonight? Miles._

Draco found a quill, turned the note over, and scribbled, _Only if it's early. Bit of a late night last night. I'll be there at ten._

He went back to the paper after the owl had flown away. If Miles turned up on time, well and good. If not, Draco would have a drink or two, see if there was anyone else who caught his eye, or simply come home. He flipped through the pages, absently noting that the Magpies had defeated the Cannons 310 to 80. No surprise there. He wondered again why on earth Harry Potter had chosen to become a backer for the Cannons. Thinking of which... Draco flipped to the gossip column, scanning it. Rather to his relief, neither his name nor Harry's was mentioned, though their encounter had occurred late enough that it might not make it until tomorrow's edition. He wondered what chance there was that he might see Potter at the club tonight. Probably not much. He had never seen Harry at the Blue Rose, only at Charon. And then only on a Friday night, never a Saturday.

As it turned out, Miles did meet Draco, only a few minutes after ten, and Draco allowed himself to be persuaded to go back to Miles's place afterward. The man was a bloody good shag.

* * *

  
"...it is _the_ charitable event of the season, you know, so of course I'll be there." Pansy giggled. "I would go even if it weren't, just to see her dress. Last year she wore lavender. I can't imagine what hideous color she'll choose this time."

"What was that?" asked Draco. He had lost track of the thread of Pansy's gossip half a glass of wine ago, and had only just realized that he might actually be interested in what she was saying now.

"Ginny Weasley," Pansy sighed. "Honestly, Draco, she's the one who organized the charity dinner for that orphanage every year. The one for war orphans? One can't be seen not to be supporting it. Are you planning to attend yourself? I suppose it's not really your thing."

"I hadn't really thought about it. When is the dinner?"

"A week from Saturday," Pansy answered. "Everyone knows Harry Potter pays for most of their ongoing expenses, but I suppose he can't possibly afford to support the entire thing himself."

"I suppose I'll go this time," said Draco. He had donated before -- as Pansy had said, it was practically compulsory -- but he'd never attended the fundraising dinner. "It's not one of those where one has to attend as part of a couple, is it?"

Pansy trilled a little laugh. "No, no. Didn't you even _look_ at your invitation? You simply put down how many guests will be attending, including yourself, and arrange for a thumping great transfer of Galleons from your account at Gringott's to the orphanage's. Very simple." She looked thoughtful. "The food is surprisingly good for this sort of thing, thank Merlin. At least, it was last year."

"Drinks, dinner, and then speeches by all of the illustrious donors, I expect?" Draco couldn't quite believe that he was seriously considering attending this function. "How deadly dull. Or is there anything else to make it worth a wasted evening?"

"Pish. It will all be over by ten o'clock, half past at the latest," said Pansy. "I know perfectly well that you never go home until the wee hours on weekend evenings, anyhow. You could quite easily go on to one of your little clubs afterward, so don't let that stop you."

"Well, I suppose I'll go then." Draco mustered up a smile. "At the very least, I'll be interested to see what table I'm put at. If it's organized by size of donation, I might be out of luck."

He spoke jokingly but was half-serious; while the Malfoy estates had not been confiscated after the war, a number of his father's investments had been predicated on a victory for Voldemort, and Draco's income came primarily from his own employment these days. That was something no one seemed to believe, however.

Pansy rolled her eyes at him, and changed the topic. Evidently there was a rumor going around that Madame Malkin's was going to go out of business sometime soon, but Pansy had been in there only the previous week, and saw no signs of it.

When he got home that night, Draco rooted through the stack of mail that he had been ignoring. The invitation to the charity dinner had to be in there someplace. It had arrived weeks ago, and he was sure he hadn't bothered to throw it out. There it was. He pulled out the slightly battered envelope and slit it open. The invitation itself had been written in a fine clear hand, but there was an additional note at the bottom of it in a much more untidy scrawl. _I do hope you can come._

Draco pursed his lips. A nice touch, that, the great Harry Potter adding a personal appeal to each recipient. He wondered how many were taken in by it, thinking that it really was personal. Now, the question was, should he go by himself, or see if perhaps Miles would be interested in attending too? On second thought, this really wasn't Miles's sort of scene. Besides, Draco had been seeing rather a lot of him in the past three months, perhaps a little too much. He didn't want the man to think he was interested in a relationship, after all. No, best to go alone. Draco scrawled his name on the card, put a "one" in the appropriate spot, and resolved to take it to the Owl Office in the morning.

Although he told himself that he did not expect Harry Potter to be there, not when he hadn't seen him around in several months, when he went to Charon that Friday night Draco found himself glancing at every man who walked through the door. He had carefully avoided making plans to meet Miles. In fact, he made certain that he was dancing very closely indeed with another bloke, whose name he hadn't even caught, when Miles turned up.

Miles didn't seem to mind; he flashed Draco a smile in passing and went and struck up a conversation with someone at the bar. Draco danced with a few more different men before ending up in the back room. He didn't want conversation. All he wanted was a quick blowjob, a bit of physical relief. As he leaned against the wall, trying to ignore its stickiness, he concentrated on the here and now, on the enthusiastic slurping sounds coming from around his prick, and he wound his hands into the dark hair to control the man's speed and depth, coming into his mouth without ceremony and without warning.

Afterward he went and stood at the bar, drinking steadily but not excessively until the place closed.

He spent much of the last week before the event thinking that perhaps he had made a poor decision in agreeing to go; it was bound to be tedious, but he did not owl to send his regrets after all. Friday evening saw him putting on his best dress robes and ensuring that he had not a hair out of place. Since he had made the commitment, he did not intend to be less than suitably attired.

To his surprise, given that he had made the minimum suggested donation, he had not been shuffled off to an out-of-the-way table. Instead he had been placed at the one closest to the head table, where he had an excellent view of the event's organizers, and indeed was directly facing Harry Potter himself.

Potter seemed to be avoiding Draco's gaze, however, talking with what in Draco's opinion seemed artificial enthusiasm to an unfamiliar elderly wizard next him. Draco looked over his own companions. Pansy and Roderick were not seated at his table, but there was a fellow whom he vaguely recalled from school, Justin Finch-Fletchley and his wife, whose name was Emma or Emily or something; it had been hard to hear over the clatter of cutlery and the general buzz of conversation.

"Haven't seen you here before, Malfoy," said Finch-Fletchley, reaching over to clap Draco heartily on the shoulder. "Glad you could come."

"It's such a worthy cause," said his wife, who had a squeaky sort of a voice and a mass of pale brown curls held back from her head with a violet ribbon, a style which reminded Draco of Dolores Umbridge, though this woman was actually quite attractive, if one liked the horsy style of female beauty.

"Yes, it is," Draco agreed. "I gather you're long-time supporters?"

"Oh, yes," said Emma or Emily. She looked at her husband fondly. "Justin helped the Potters begin it, didn't you, dear?"

"The first year or two, yes," said Finch-Fletchley. "Haven't had the time to be active in helping to run the place lately, but still a contributor, of course."

"Yes, of course," said Draco, and resigned himself to a truly dull evening. At least he could watch Potter from here without being too obvious about it, and that might provide a modicum of entertainment. During the soup course Potter dropped his bread onto the floor, and after scrambling to retrieve it, closed his eyes, evidently counting to ten and taking deep breaths to calm himself. Draco was surprised that Potter suffered from stage fright, as he supposed it must be. It wasn't as if he had not been at this event for half a dozen years now or more, and in any case he was one of the best-known public figures in the wizarding world. The _Daily Prophet_ seemed to have a story about him nearly every week, so he must be used to being interviewed. But then, those would be one-on-one rather than a speech in front of a large number of people.

It was not until he was asked to choose between a slice of vanilla sponge with jam or a wedge of chocolate gateau that Draco actually met Potter's eyes for the first time that evening. The pained expression that he had had months before in Draco's flat was gone, of course, replaced by a wariness visible only in the slight pinching of his eyebrows and the way that his glance slid away almost as soon as Draco caught it.

"No, thank you," said Draco politely to the waiter. He normally liked sweets, a holdover from his school days, but neither of tonight's choices tonight appealed to him. He glanced again at Potter, who had also shaken his head. That was surprising. Draco would have figured Potter for the sort who would take two helpings, if he had the opportunity. It was nearly time for the obligatory speeches, however, so perhaps Potter didn't want to risk being still eating when he was called upon to speak.

As Draco had expected, the speeches were deadly dull. Potter was the first to speak, saying a few words about the foundation of the orphanage and its ongoing need for funds. He thanked everyone present for their generous contributions, and then turned things over to his wife. Ginny Weasley was actually quite a good speaker, Draco admitted to himself as he listened. He could see what Pansy meant by her clothing, though. She was wearing a frilly pale yellow dress that clashed terribly with her hair and skin tones; even Draco, who didn't pay much attention to women's fashions, could tell that it was less than flattering on her, and he wondered why she would choose such a thing. Perhaps she simply didn't care what she looked like, being concerned with other matters she deemed more important? She talked about the needs of the orphanage with true passion. Her face transformed as she spoke, looking almost beautiful. For the first time Draco realized what Potter might see in her, even if he had since discovered that he was attracted to men as well. Several more people spoke after her, but Draco was no longer interested, merely enduring with the best grace he could until it would all be over and he could leave, passing the time by drawing patterns on the table cloth with the back end of the dessert fork he had never used.

"Good to see you again, Malfoy," said Finch-Fletchley, clapping Draco on the shoulder once more as he and his wife rose to leave.

Draco forced a polite smile, nodding to the rest of his table companions as well. He sipped at the dregs of his wine and kept one eye on Potter, glancing at his own watch and trying to decide if he would go elsewhere to finish out the evening, or simply go home.

When the photographer from the Daily Prophet had finished taking a last few pictures of Potter and his wife -- Draco thought to himself that Potter would have been wiser to refuse, for he looked inexpressibly weary and Draco doubted that the photographs would be any good -- Draco moved toward the head table. He wasn't certain what he expected, but he was pleased when with no apparent hesitation Potter put out a hand to shake his, saying,"Malfoy. I'm glad you were able to make it."

Mustering up his best smile, Draco said, "Of course. I don't know why I never came before." He turned to Ginny Weasley. "Marvelous speech you gave tonight."

She smiled. "If you had been here before you'd know I give nearly the same one every year."

"Does all of this," Draco moved his hand, indicating the whole room and the rapidly thinning crowd, "raise sufficient money for the purpose?"

"Nearly. We get some ongoing contributions as well, and Harry is of course one of the major donors." She turned her gaze to Harry with an expression of deep contentment.

"I do what I can," Harry said, glancing down. "It's not that much, really."

"Ah." Draco wasn't sure what prompted him to say it, but he added,"I'd better get going. I'm supposed to meet someone at Charon later tonight." He watched Potter's face, waiting to see his reaction.

He heard Ginny inhale sharply, but Potter merely flushed very slightly, saying, "I've heard that's an excellent club for dancing; I trust you'll have a good time. Glad you were able to come to this first."

"Yes. Well, good night," said Draco, and turned and left.

He had been lying. He had no plans to meet with anyone, not Miles, not Terry, not Jamie from last week, not anyone at all. He considered not bothering to go, but then decided that he might as well. It wasn't as if he had anything much better to do, was it?

The music playing that night seemed more intrusive than usual. Draco listened halfheartedly, sipping at a drink, and rebuffing several attempts by various blokes to make conversation with him. One was a spectacularly attractive man, on whom Draco had had an eye for some weeks now, but tonight he just didn't feel interested. There was always next week, after all, or the one after. At half past one he gave up the evening as a bad job and went home, tumbling still half-dressed into his bed and failing miserably to fall asleep. Thoughts roiled in his mind until he finally got up again and took a dose of Dreamless Sleep potion. That did the trick.

Draco neither saw nor heard anything of Potter for the next three weeks, except for the usual articles in the _Prophet_. The one on the charity dinner did not, he noted, include any of the post-prandial photographs he had seen taken. He suspected he had been right, and they were too unflattering. Nevertheless Draco found that Potter appeared in his thoughts a little more often than he would have liked, for reasons he couldn't fathom. So they had had a rather good shag, so what? It had been ages ago now, and Potter was married, for Merlin's sake. Having tried having sex with another man didn't mean that Potter was going to give up on his wife, and even if he did, why should it matter to Draco? It wasn't as if Draco had any serious interest in Potter. He didn't _do_ relationships. A few uncommitted shags was all he ever wanted from anyone, and if occasionally it was more than a few, it was still very much casual. And in any case, for all that Potter had indicated that night that he had enjoyed sex with Draco and would like to do it again sometime, he certainly showed no signs of trying to get in touch. Draco certainly wasn't going to chase after _him_.

It was not until nearly a month after the charity dinner, more than seventeen weeks from the night they had shagged -- and why did he remember that? He wasn't counting -- that a letter arrived by owl late one evening. Draco recognized the bird. Potter had had this snowy owl back in school. He wondered what on earth Potter had written him about. Tossing the owl a treat, he untied the message from her leg. She clicked her beak at him and hopped back onto the windowsill. It would seem that no answer was expected, so he let her out to fly away before settling down to read the letter.

 _Dear Draco_ , it began in the same untidy scrawl he'd seen on the charity dinner invitation. _I'm sorry that I didn't write you sooner._ Here the handwriting changed, becoming more cramped, the letters carefully formed, as if Potter had paused to think about just what it was he was going to say. _I would very much like to see you again. Ginny will be away most of next week, doing some fundraising for the orphanage in France. Would you perhaps be free on Wednesday night for dinner? An owl care of the Cannons will reach me. Harry._

Draco was barely aware of the smile that curved his lips as he considered how he might reply. He would have turned down the invitation, but he couldn't deny that he was curious. Potter had seemed reasonably happy at that charity dinner, except for the photographers and reporters whizzing around him of course, and if he had wanted to see Draco again, he knew perfectly well where to find him on a Friday evening. In the end he sent a note to Potter, care of the Cannons as requested.

 _Seven o'clock Wednesday. Your house._

If Potter wanted discretion so much that he was having Draco owl him through work, going out for dinner would be foolish.

Draco didn't bother to change clothes before he went. Meeting Potter at his own house for dinner oughtn't to require club-worthy attire. He _was_ slightly annoyed to realize that although Potter's house was on the Floo network, access was restricted. Since Potter had not indicated that he would put Draco on the permitted list, Draco ended up Apparating to the nearest safe spot and walking nearly a quarter of a mile. He'd had a long day and altogether was in a somewhat disgruntled mood when he finally knocked on Potter's door.

"Hello." Potter opened it so quickly that Draco decided he must have been hovering in the entryway. "Do come in."

Draco had never been in Potter's flat before. He looked around. It was nice enough, he supposed, although rather dull. Pale walls, beige furniture -- even the pictures on the walls were not terribly interesting. He wondered if it had been Potter or his wife who had decorated.

"Do you want a drink?" Potter asked. Draco could see a half-full glass sitting on a side table.

"Scotch, if you have it." A bit much this early, perhaps, but he needed to feel the fire of something strong in his stomach just now. He accepted the tumbler from Potter and moved to sit down. Sipping at his drink, he said, "Nice place."

Potter shrugged. "It's all right." He sat in the chair by his drink and picked it up. Draco suspected it was not his first of the night, perhaps not even his second.

"So. Why did you ask me over?"

"I wanted to talk to you," said Potter quietly. "About what happened the other month."

"Ah, I see." Draco decided to cut to the chase. "Well, I did say that I would consider a second go if you asked nicely, didn't I? Are you going to ask nicely?" Draco gave him a little smirk.

Blushing, Potter said, "I, er, yes. That is, sort of. You're the only bloke I know..." He trailed off, biting his lip.

When Draco raised his eyebrows and took another sip -- it was surprisingly good Scotch -- and said, "The only bloke you know who's gay? I highly doubt that." He could have named at least three gay wizards with whom he was certain Potter was acquainted.

"No," Potter agreed, "but... you know about me already. That I'm... curious." Draco could see that Potter was finding it a struggle to speak.

"What is it that you want, Potter?" asked Draco. He leaned forward a little. "If you're looking for advice, forget it. I don't give relationship advice. I don't _do_ relationships. If you just want advice about sex, well, there I might be able to be of some help. Either talking or showing." It was blunt, but Draco was tired and the alcohol was working on him.

Potter flinched a little. "I don't know." He was chewing on his lip now, looking down. After a minute he raised his eyes to Draco's. "All I know is that ever since that night, I can't... I can't stop thinking about you."

Draco couldn't decide what to say to that. Potter had been thinking about him for months? Draco had been in similar circumstances before, and had a stock of sarcastic replies, all designed to convince the poor sod opposite him that falling in love with Draco Malfoy was a foolish thing indeed, but he couldn't quite bring himself to say any of those lines to Potter.

After a moment, Potter continued, "I thought it might be just that you were the first, the only bloke I'd been with. So," he said, and swallowed, "I tried a few more times. Muggles, they were. After you reminded me about the _Prophet_ , I didn't dare go to any more wizarding clubs. But it didn't make any difference." One hand was clenched around the arm of the chair, the skin white over his knuckles.

A tinny ringing sound broke into the pause.

"Shit." Potter leaped to his feet. "The quiche. Hang on, I'll be right back."

After a few minutes and some clattering sounds from further back in the flat, Potter returned, looking more composed. Draco wondered if he had perhaps taken a Calming Draft while he was out of the room.

"Look," Potter said. "This wasn't how I meant this conversation to go. I know that you're not interested in anything permanent; you said that last time too."

He met Draco's gaze. The skin was drawn tight across his cheekbones, as if he had been up late a few too many nights, and his expression was determined. "I really enjoyed the night we were together," he said. "You hinted that you might be willing to entertain the possibility of another one, sometime. So that's why I asked you here tonight. To ask nicely, as you say, if you'd consider a second go."

"And what's in it for me?" asked Draco. "Other than a night of reasonably good shagging, that is." Not that a good shag wasn't worthwhile in itself, but if Potter had been thinking about him for months, Draco wanted to know what Potter's obsession would allow.

Potter looked blank. "What do you want?"

Draco shrugged. "I thought I would see what you were willing to offer."

"You don't want any kind of a relationship. And I can't do anything in bed that you haven't done before, I'm sure." Potter moved over to stand by Draco's elbow. "So I don't know what I _could_ offer."

He was close enough that Draco had to tilt his head back to see his face. "Oh, sit down," he said irritably, and Potter sat on the sofa next him. That was better.

What _did_ he want from Potter, anyway? Why had he come here in the first place? He had known it was likely to be a shag that Potter wanted, and likely more, more than Draco was interested in giving. He thought quickly.

"I'll tell you what you can offer," Draco said at last. "Answers to three questions. I'll ask you three questions, maybe not all tonight; and ordinary questions don't count, like what's in this quiche that we're apparently having for dinner. I'll tell you when I'm asking one of the three. And you have to answer, fully and truthfully. Sound fair? You'll be getting what you want, and I'll get what I want."

Potter looked wary. "You can't share the answers with anyone else, though, not unless I tell you it's all right."

"That seems fair," agreed Draco. He was just as pleased that Potter was aware that this arrangement could be dangerous. "Is it a bargain?"

"Yes," said Potter, and gave a sudden smile. "Do you want to have dinner first? I mean, are you hungry? It's quiche, it'll be fine if we wait, too."

"Might as well eat now," said Draco. He could smell the food faintly, and his stomach was informing him that lunch had been quite some time ago.

The quiche -- bacon and onion, it was -- was really very good. Potter shrugged when Draco complimented him on it.

"I had to do a lot of cooking when I was young, before I went to Hogwarts, and over the summer holidays while I was in school. I didn't like to cook for quite a long time afterward, but recently I've taken it up again. Molly Weasley has taught me a lot about wizarding cooking." The open expression he had begun with had disappeared by the end of that speech, and Draco watched him lift his glass as if to hide behind it.

Without responding, Draco took up his last bite of quiche and savored it. When he had finished, he set his fork down and said to Potter, "That's enough for me. Now. Shall I ask you my first question?"

Potter blanched. "Right now?"

"Did you have a better time in mind?"

"I guess not." Potter swallowed visibly. "Go ahead."

"It seems like you wanted _me_ here for a reason. You'd had plenty of chances to pick up other blokes in Charon, the weeks before we got together. It can't have been just shyness that stopped you; you were plenty enthusiastic once I made it clear I was willing. And you say you've had sex with a couple of other blokes since then; Muggles maybe, but I don't expect there's that much difference." Draco smirked. "So what is it about me that brought you back, why is it _me_ you want to fuck tonight when your wife is away? That's my question."

If he had been pale before, Potter's skin now matched the tablecloth.

"The whole truth," Draco reminded him.

"I... I know." He bowed his head, refusing to meet Draco's eyes, and his voice was suddenly thin and dry. "I can't stop thinking about you. I don't _know_ why. I thought it would be... be just a one-time thing, you know? With you. That I would see what it was like to be with another man, get it out of my system, and be able to go back to Ginny. But it didn't work like that. I wanted it again. I didn't dare go to Charon another time, though. I waited as long as I could and then I went to a Muggle pub, let myself be picked up. I thought, I hoped maybe that would get you out of my head. That didn't work either, and I felt like I was _really_ cheating on Ginny, because..."

"Because?" prompted Draco.

"Because it didn't mean anything at all," said Potter. "The sex felt good, yes, but it didn't mean anything. With you, somehow, it was okay because it meant more, even though I know you didn't feel the same." Potter made a sound that after a moment Draco recognized as a strangled laugh. "You wouldn't believe how many times I wrote that letter to you, and tore it up, promising myself that I wasn't going to do this, that the sex might have been great but it wasn't worth it set against Ginny and our marriage. But in the end I couldn't stop myself."

Draco was flattered even against his better judgment. He'd heard similar declarations from other men more than once before, and always doubted them, but Potter could not be telling anything but the truth. Being flattered did not mean he would tamely acquiesce to Potter's wishes, however. He was a Malfoy.

He should have said something sarcastic, even hurtful, something like, "And just what am I expected to do about this?" Instead he found himself saying, "I see."

"I'm sorry." Potter's shoulders were slumped. "I didn't mean to put this on you. Probably I shouldn't have asked you here tonight; it's my problem, not yours."

"If you're obsessed with me, I rather think it is my problem," said Draco firmly. What he was going to do about it, he didn't yet know. Something. But that was no reason not to find some enjoyment in the situation.

Potter gave him a wry half-smile. "Would it help if I promised not to let it get in the way of a good shag? If you're willing to do that?"

"It would help. And I am."

The bedroom that Potter led him to was clearly not his own. Draco was unsurprised. He found it peculiar enough that Potter, of all people, was cheating on his wife; the notion of fucking Potter in the bed that he and Ginny shared would have been a little too strange. If he had _wanted_ to get seriously involved with Potter, it might have been different; there would have been a certain symbolism in claiming the man for his own in that bed, then. But under the circumstances he was just as happy not to be reminded.

"Can I kiss you first?" asked Potter when Draco started taking off his clothes, and Draco shrugged and acquiesced. As he remembered, Potter kissed quite well, a little gentler than most blokes -- perhaps because he was used to kissing a woman -- but showing a lot of erotic talent. Potter's hands swept down Draco's back, holding him close. Draco reciprocated, kneading Potter's arse and pulling his hips close until Draco could feel the hard bump of Potter's prick through his clothes. Potter groaned and frotted against him, pulling his mouth away to say, "God, I've wanted this."

Draco worked one hand in between them and into Potter's trousers, sliding beneath the elastic of Potter's pants to wrap around the warm length of his prick. Potter pushed into his hand, wordlessly asking for more, so Draco nudged him toward the bed, pulling his own clothes off rapidly and tugging Potter's trousers and pants down around his ankles as Potter lay back on the bed. Draco knelt over him and smiled.

"Want me to suck you off, Potter?"

Potter nodded. "Please." His eyes were dilated in the dim light, only a thin ring of green showing.

Draco licked gently at the head of Potter's prick, using his tongue to slide back the foreskin further. The taste was strong and musky, and Draco wondered if perhaps Potter had wanked earlier that day and not washed. He settled down to suck at Potter in earnest, placing nibbling little kisses up and down Potter's cock, teasing him, before finally taking it all into his mouth and sucking hard, then letting him go again. Potter whimpered, and just as he had done last time, broke into the torrent of sibilant gutturals that was Parseltongue. Draco groaned around Potter's prick as his own hardened at the sound. A hand touched his hip, tugging at him until he turned so that Potter could reciprocate, warm mouth closing around his prick and sucking at it with great enthusiasm although little skill. Draco almost regretted it, since it meant that Potter was no longer speaking Parseltongue, but there was a certain pleasure in being sucked so willingly. He slowed down his own movements, not wanting to bring Potter off too quickly. As he was licking around Potter's balls, his own prick was released and he heard Potter say, "Don't. Not yet."

"What?" Draco lifted his head to look up the length of Potter's body, meeting his eyes.

Potter's face was red. "I'll come," he mumbled. "And I want to... that is, I..."

"You what?" Draco asked.

"If you'll let me, I wanted... I want to fuck you."

Draco had rather hoped for another chance at the tight heat of Potter's arse, but he was willing to let Potter see what it was like to top. He supposed it was something that Potter hadn't tried before. "All right," he said, and gave Potter a wicked grin. " _If_ you'll promise to talk to me in Parseltongue while you're at it."

Potter gave a hiss that Draco assumed meant yes, then said, "Come here, first."

Draco switched positions, aligning their cocks together and pressing into Potter's, rubbing them together, feeling the slippery moistness. Potter's eyes were unfocused without his glasses on; he must have pulled them off when Draco was sucking him. He seemed almost to be looking into Draco's head as he moved in for a kiss.

The way that Potter reached for such intimacies was a little disturbing. Draco wasn't sure if he liked it, being treated as if there were more to this than the simple fuck he'd agreed to. Oh, it felt good, but it was almost _too_ close. He didn't want to encourage Potter to think that there was more to this than there was, and yet he found himself unwilling to pull away. Potter's hands were stroking along his back, fingers threading into Draco's hair and tilting his head so that Potter's tongue could delve ever more greedily into his mouth. Draco could feel Potter's cock throbbing against his own.

To his surprise, Draco almost regretted it when Potter pulled his mouth away long enough to say, " _Accio_ lube." A tube smacked into his hand. "How do you, um." Potter gestured and blushed. "That is, what position do you prefer?"

Draco didn't have a particular preference, in fact. On the occasions that he bottomed, he was generally willing to try any position his partner fancied. But if this was Potter's first time, he should go for something easy. He rolled over to his hands and knees, grabbing a couple of pillows to brace against.

He expected to have to tell Potter how to go about preparing him, but Potter seemed to know. Perhaps he had borrowed a leaf from Granger and done his research on the matter, or perhaps he had tried this with his wife. Draco didn't expect she would have gotten much out of it, but she might have allowed Potter the experiment nonetheless. In any case, Potter's gel-slicked finger found Draco's hole and slid inside without hesitation. A second one soon followed, stretching him, and Draco let out a gasp when Potter brushed over the nub of his prostate.

"Is that good?"

"Mm. Yeah." Draco added, "It's been a while since I bottomed, though, so you'd probably better stretch me a little more first."

"All right." Potter's fingers withdrew, and Draco heard the slurp of the tube, then felt cool slickness as Potter reentered him. Potter's other hand moved along the skin of Draco's back and side, as if he were investigating the texture of Draco's skin. Fingers ran along Draco's hip, down his thighs, and Draco spread them slightly wider, inviting Potter to reach between and stroke his balls and aching cock.

A hiss came from Potter's lips as he felt over Draco's prick with one hand, still moving inside his arsehole with the other, and Draco moaned.

"Fuck yeah, Potter," he gasped. He thought hazily that perhaps it would be worthwhile to try to learn Parseltongue, if there was any chance he might be doing this with Potter again in future. He was curious to know just what it was that Potter was saying.

The hand stroking his cock withdrew, and Potter's cheek scraped over the skin of Draco's shoulder as Potter bent forward to breathe into Draco's ear, "Harry."

"What?"

"Call me Harry," repeated Potter, emphasizing the point by twisting his fingers in Draco's hole.

"Harry," Draco agreed. "Are you going to fuck me, Harry?"

A chuckle and a nip at Draco's ear were his answer. A moment later Draco felt the head of Potter's cock at his entrance, and shuddered in pleasure as he was opened. The luck of the Boy Who Lived was clearly still with Potter, for by chance or design he was thrusting into Draco at precisely that angle which had him brushing past Draco's prostate at every stroke. Draco balanced himself on one arm and reached to tug at his prick with his other hand.

When Potter realized what he was doing, he pushed Draco's hand aside and wrapped his own fingers around Draco's prick, pumping him in the same rhythm as his thrusts into Draco's arse. He was still speaking in Parseltongue. The grunted gutturals and hissed sibilants roared in Draco's ears, sending shivers of excitement down his spine and straight to his cock. He felt the wetness leaking from his cockhead as the blood pounded fiercely in his groin. A tightening of his arse around Potter's prick produced a groan, and Potter lapsed back into English for a moment, muttering, "Fuck, so fucking tight, so good..." before he trailed off into Parseltongue once more.

Draco repeated the clench of his arse, and Potter groaned, his fingers digging into Draco's hip and his cock battering into Draco's arse, faster now, as if he were losing control, although he still tugged at Draco's cock and still spoke in that deliciously stimulating hiss.

"Come on, yeah, that's right, fuck me hard," Draco encouraged him, bucking back against Potter, enjoying the delicious combination of burn and pleasure. He hadn't enjoyed bottoming so much in a long time. Draco had always thought that experience was what made a good top, but evidently he had been wrong. His balls were pulled up tight against his body, his prick throbbing in Potter's hand. "Oh _fuck_ , going to come..."

Potter responded by battering into Draco still faster, until with a groan he stopped, shuddering, his hand falling away from around Draco's prick. Draco moved desperately, touching himself, needing just one more bit of friction before his orgasm wrenched through him in repeated sticky pulses, and he let himself collapse forward with Potter still lodged securely inside him.

After his breathing had slowed somewhat, Draco wriggled out from beneath Potter and turned to eye him suspiciously. "I thought you said you had only shagged a couple of other blokes?"

Potter's face was flushed and sweaty. "That's right," he said. "There was you, and then..." He paused, looking away, evidently calculating. "Three others, one of them twice."

"Were you topping?"

"No." Potter shook his head.

"That's some natural talent you have then," Draco said with a grin. Potter flushed a darker red; embarrassment looked rather good on him. "So." Draco became serious. "This _was_ what you wanted, wasn't it? A nice friendly shag? That's not one of my questions, by the way, just curiosity. Or rather, it's still the first question which you never quite answered. So should I know something more?"

"I, er, I..." Potter flopped over onto his back running his fingers through his hair.

"Or maybe _you_ don't know?"

A wry chuckle came from Potter's throat. "You could probably say that. Look. Can I be honest?"

"Should I be worried if you are?" countered Draco.

"That depends." Potter was silent for a moment. "Right. I told you the first time that Ginny knew what I was doing."

Draco nodded.

"Well, she knows in a general way. I haven't given her any details, but she knows that I've had sex with a couple of different men, now." Potter sighed. "I'm pretty certain she was hoping I would get it out of my system, and decide that it wasn't what I wanted after all. But it hasn't quite worked out that way." Green eyes turned to Draco. "I love her, you see," he said simply. "But she doesn't excite me any more, sexually. If I'm honest about it, she never really has. So it's hard to know what I should do. What she and I have emotionally, it's good, honestly it is -- it just isn't enough."

"So why are you telling me all of this?" asked Draco.

"Because... because I hope you'll have an answer for me?" Potter's voice spiraled upward. "Stupid of me to think you could or would. It's not like we've ever been close friends or anything, and you've never been one to even _try_ to settle down with one person. I'm just another notch on your wand, aren't I? And you probably never had to go through anything like this. From what I've understood, you've known you were gay since we were at Hogwarts."

Draco wondered to whom Potter had been talking, to pick up that particular piece of information. Pansy? Perhaps; she certainly knew it. Abruptly he decided to put the question to Potter, who blinked in surprise.

"I just... know," he said, looking uncomfortable. "I didn't back then, mind you. I figured it out later. About the same time I figured it out for myself, in fact. You remember sixth year?"

"Of course." Draco frowned. "You nearly killed me."

Potter nodded. "That was an accident; we've already been through that, during the war, so let's not get into it again. No, what I meant was that I was absolutely obsessed with you that year. I told myself that it was because I thought you had taken the Dark Mark, joined the Death Eaters, but really that was only part of the reason I kept following you and trying to figure out what you were doing."

"Well, you were wrong. I had taken the Mark." Draco shifted. His arse was a little sore, and he felt sticky and uncomfortable, lying in the damp patch. He began to sit up, reaching for his robes. His wand was in a pocket.

Before he could do anything, though, Potter had cast a _Tergeo_ and at once both Draco and the bed were clean and dry.

"Thanks." Draco lay back down, propping himself on his elbow so that he could look at Potter. He was worth looking at. Not an impressive physique, no; Draco had noticed that last time. Potter clearly didn't spend his hours at the Muggle gyms, or even playing Quidditch, but he wasn't in bad shape for all of that. A little soft about the belly, but on him it looked almost good. It made the Boy Who Lived, the Hero of the Wizarding World, the Defeater of Voldemort, seem just like anyone else. And there was something about his face... Draco couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he could have watched Potter for hours without growing tired of the view.

"What?" asked Potter as Draco gazed at him.

"Nothing." Draco waved a hand carelessly. "Go on."

"Yeah. About the Mark -- well, that’s long since settled too, isn’t it? Anyway, so when I realized that I found men attractive, I put two and two together and realized that I had felt that way for years, without letting myself be aware it. And of course, I heard the gossip about you these days."

Draco rolled his eyes. "The _Prophet_ , I presume."

"Rumor, actually," said Potter. "Not that it matters." He took a deep breath. "So, am I right, you've always known about yourself?"

"More or less," said Draco. "It wasn't like I never _tried_ kissing girls or anything; you remember I took Pansy to the Yule Ball in fourth year. But girls never did much for me, and I knew it. I kept quiet about it then, though. My parents -- my father especially -- would've disowned me." He shrugged. The pain of that knowledge was something he had long since accepted, and it hadn't mattered for years, anyway. "Since my father died in the war, and my mother killed herself rather than risk being sent to Azkaban afterward, it hasn't really mattered."

"She did?" Potter's voice was surprised. "I thought she had suffered a heart attack or something. It wasn't reported as a suicide."

"It was hushed up." Draco bit his lip, not sure why he had told Potter the truth. "Not something that one wants to make public, you know? Doesn't look good; as if she were weak. Which she was, I guess, but that's not something that other people need to know."

"I'm sorry." Potter put his hand on Draco's shoulder. "I still haven't really answered your question, have I? About what it is I want."

Draco shook his head.

"If I could have an-y-thing that I want-ed..." Potter spaced the words out, almost sing-songing them. He stopped and gave a wry chuckle. "If I could really have anything that I wanted, I'd turn Ginny into a man. That would certainly be the easiest. But there are limitations on magic, and I don't think she would be too keen on the idea, anyhow."

"Probably not," agreed Draco. He waited, and after a moment Potter continued.

"But since that isn't possible, I have to either resign myself to a sex life that is, shall we say, less than fulfilling for me, whatever it may be for her. Maybe some people can live like that, but what I've figured out is that I can't. Much as I might like to, in some ways, it just doesn't make me happy. And when I'm not happy, then Ginny isn't happy, either, and that's how I got into this whole situation to begin with." He sighed. "There's really no alternative. Either I stay married to Ginny, and I'm miserable, and she's miserable, or I leave her, and maybe we both have a chance for something that will make us happy. Even if it hurts to begin with."

"What do you think you'll do?" Draco asked. "And when?"

"I'll have to finally tell her that I just can't make it work, that it's my fault, not hers. She's done everything I could have asked -- more. I thought maybe when she's finished with this fund-raising thing in France." Potter shrugged. "This trip is supposed to take about a week, and I think it will all be finished in, I don't know, six weeks? Two months? Something like that."

"So you're going to wait two months before you tell your wife you're leaving her, even though you're certain that's what you're going to do." Draco didn't raise his voice.

"Do you think that's a bad idea?" asked Potter anxiously. "The thing is that I don't want her to be upset right now. What she's doing is important."

"There will always be something important," Draco said. "Won't there?"

Potter nodded slowly. "You would do it now. Not tonight, obviously, but as soon as she's home."

"I would." Draco had never told his own parents that he was queer -- first he had been so young, and though he'd thought he was certain, he wasn't _so_ certain as to say without more experience, and by then it was too late. But he hadn't hesitated since in relating unpalatable truths to those he needed to tell, even when they were close friends like Pansy.

"Okay." Potter took a deep breath. "Will you help me?"

"Help you how? I'm _not_ going to sit with you when you tell your wife that you're queer, Po- Harry."

"No, of course not," said Potter hastily. "But would you maybe be willing to let me stay at your place for a few nights if I need to, listen to me the way you've done tonight? I swear I won't ask for more than that. I need a friend, Draco, someone who's not going to be as much on Ginny's side as on mine. She deserves it, she'll need it, but I need to have just one person who is backing me. Does that make sense?"

"We haven't exactly been friends," said Draco, hedging, but the unhappiness and worry in Potter's face caught at him more than he wanted. "But all right. You can reach me by Floo -- it's open." It wasn't, actually, but he would set it so that Potter could reach him as soon as he was home.

"Thanks." The word was heartfelt. "Ginny comes back on Friday sometime -- I can't remember exactly when the Portkey she's taking is set for -- and I'll talk to her this weekend. It'll be better to have it over with." Potter sighed. "I hope it will."

Draco hoped so too. He hoped that Potter wouldn't need to come stay at his flat; if Ginny Weasley had been willing to let her husband experiment with other men, perhaps she would take the news that he really did prefer them without being too upset. Doubtless that was unrealistically optimistic. "All right. I'd better leave. It's getting late and I have to work tomorrow. But I still have two more questions to put to you eventually, remember."

"I know." Potter's smile was wry. "I hope they aren't quite as difficult as the first."  


**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from "Voulez-Vous," by ABBA. Thanks to Thevina for the beta! All remaining infelicities or errors are, of course, mine own. [/pedantry]


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